


Wounds

by DKNC



Series: Would That You Were Mine [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, altered pre-canon events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 13:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6659083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the troubling visits to Winterfell by Lord Rodrik Ryswell and King Robert Baratheon near their ends, the wounds inflicted upon the Starks by outside forces and by each other seem to grow ever more painful. As he prepares to leave Winterfell for what may be forever, Ned Stark finds himself in a very dark state of mind as he contemplates the hard truth that some wounds are simply too deep to heal. </p>
<p>This story is the seventh in the series, "Would That You Were Mine"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

Ned Stark could see his breath as he checked the girth on his horse. Hullen had saddled both his and Brandon’s mounts, and while Ned trusted that Hullen knew his business well, he had never learned to trust that anyone outside Winterfell could see to his horse as well he could himself. His many long journeys to King’s Landing and elsewhere on Robert’s business had ingrained within him the habit of checking everything from the fit of the bridle to the condition of the hooves when his horse had been in someone else’s care. He hoped that Hullen did not notice or at least would not take it as a slight if he did. Of course, Hullen’s sensibilities were the least of his worries at the moment. While Ned was untroubled by the sudden drop in temperature and very real possibility of snow before nightfall, Robert was positively wroth about it. 

“What kind of fucking, inhabitable hellhole is this place you call home, Ned?” he’d thundered in the Great Hall as the men broke their fast before dawn. “What do you mean snow? It’s bloody summer, godsdammit! It can’t snow!”

But this was the North, and it certainly could snow—not that a summer snow troubled Ned in the slightest. He actually found the chill in the air refreshing. While Northern summers rarely grew unbearably hot even for him, he’d spent too much time recently far enough south that breathing genuinely cold air felt like a gift—particularly if he truly had to spend most of the rest of his life in godsforsaken, sweltering Dorne. 

Robert had wanted to be gone today. They’d tarried far too long in the North already, he’d insisted, although they’d ridden through Winterfell’s gates a mere fortnight ago. As he’d received the one thing he most wanted and nothing else had gone as he’d thought it would, the king was ready to return to King’s Landing. If Ned believed Robert’s haste was motivated by a dedication to the business of governing the realm or even a desire to be once again with his wife and children, he might be less resentful of the man’s impatience. But he feared the truth was far less noble. For whatever reason, Robert had comported himself with greater dignity and courtesy in his speech and actions here in Winterfell than Ned had seen him do in a great while. Oh, he was still Robert, and he still said and did things that only the crown upon his head allowed him to escape censure for, but he had exercised more restraint in his behavior here than he had since he’d first taken the crown—even if Ned was the only person in Winterfell who realized that. Sadly, he also realized that Robert’s haste to bid farewell to the North was due in large part to his friend’s desire to return to the life of ever increasing debauchery his throne granted him in King’s Landing.

“Are you ready, Ned?” The king’s voice cut into his musings and Ned just barely stopped himself from answering ‘I’ll never be ready,’ as if Robert were questioning him about his preparedness to leave Winterfell—leave Catelyn—and wed the damned Dornish girl if she’d have him, so that Robert could feel more secure on his damned throne. Not that he ever sat on it when he could avoid it.

“I am,” Ned called back, looking up to see his friend striding across the courtyard, wearing what seemed an absurd amount of fur wrapped around him. “Is your strategy to lure the bear in by impersonating a bear yourself, Your Grace?” Ned asked, raising a brow in some amusement.

“You aren’t a bit funny, Ned,” Robert replied as he walked the last few steps bringing him beside Ned and his horse. “It’s damned cold out here whether you believe it or not. How in seven hells does the temperature drop so quickly? It was pleasant enough yesterday!”

Ned laughed. “It’s that rapid change heralds a summer snow. When such winds blow and the cold comes all of a sudden in summer, the snow will not lag far behind.”

Robert scowled. “It isn’t snowing yet.” He shook his head. “Mayhap we should still consider starting south.”

“It will snow, Robert,” Ned said with a sigh, repeating what he and Brandon had already told the man numerous times this morning. “It likely won’t last. Neither will this cold snap. And once on the ground, it won’t be deep enough to trouble our progress. But your men and horses are not equipped to ride through a snowstorm—even a summer snowstorm while it’s happening. Best to wait it out here as it will cost us no more than a day. Two or three at the most.”

Robert’s scowl darkened further, and Ned laughed at him. “Besides . . . I thought you wanted your shot at Jory’s bear!”

“Aye. But it’ll my bear, Ned, not Jory’s. It’ll be my steel that takes the beast down,” Robert’s scowl transformed into an expression of confident anticipation, and Ned laughed again.

“Well, I hope you intend to make certain it’s stuck with several spears before you walk up to it and challenge it to a duel, Your Grace!”

Robert’s scowl returned, but there was no real rancor in his expression or his voice as he replied, “I’ve told you repeatedly to stop with that ‘your grace’ shit, and you still aren’t a bit funny. Where’s your brother? The day’s wasting, and I’d like to get out there and hunt the damn bear before your blizzard hits!”

“It won’t be a blizzard, and we’ve plenty of time yet. The sun’s barely above the horizon, and the snow shouldn’t start in earnest for hours.” Ned frowned himself at the thought of his brother. “As for Brandon, I have no idea what’s keeping him. He wanted to tell Catelyn about our hunting plans, but I’ve no idea what’s keeping him so long.”

Robert grinned rather lecherously. “The lovely Lady Catelyn hadn’t yet come down to the Great Hall to break her fast, had she? If he found her still in her bedchamber, I’ve a very good idea of what keeps him. No wonder the woman stays pregnant!” Robert shook his head, still grinning. “But he’d better fuck her quickly this morning or we’ll not wait for him!” Robert laughed loudly and then turned to walk toward some of his men who were preparing horses for today’s hunt. 

Ned tried very hard to push the image of Brandon laying Cat down upon her bed from his mind. _She’s his wife,_ he told himself sternly. _It is his right to have her—her body, the babe she carries for him—they belong to him._ The truth of that did nothing to ease the painful, burning jealousy that rose within him, though. Since agreeing to wed Arianne Martell at Robert’s direction, Ned had found himself wondering if imagining his bedding the Dornish girl would haunt Catelyn and torture her in the same manner. In his darkest, most selfish moments—when he watched Brandon put his hands and mouth on her before leading her from the Great Hall to disappear into her chambers—he almost hoped it would. He prayed the gods would forgive him for that. He would never forgive himself. None of this was Catelyn’s doing—she’d had no more choice in wedding Brandon than he would have in wedding the Martell princess. Gods knew that neither he nor Cat had intended to feel as they did. Wishing even one moment’s pain on the woman he loved more than his own life was a sin greater than any other he had committed, and he loathed the weakness and jealousy within him that allowed such darkness into his soul.

Robert’s boisterous laughter penetrated his dark thoughts, and he looked up to see that Brandon had arrived in the courtyard. Robert was grinning and slapping him on the back. Brandon grinned back and said something that made Robert laugh louder. His brother’s expression left no doubt as to the tone of their conversation, and Ned felt the anger and jealously coil once more within his gut. He turned back to his horse, pretending to adjust a stirrup and hoping neither man would speak to him until they’d moved on to another topic of conversation.

In some ways, Ned had actually been less miserable before the Ryswells left. Lord Rodrik had been insufferable, of course, particularly to Cat. Ned and Brandon had argued rather violently after the man’s last verbal assault on her—Ned calling out Brandon for not leaping to her defense vigorously enough, and Brandon accusing him of speaking out when he had no right. Yet, in spite of that, for the most part the three of them had been united in their efforts to keep Ryswell from realizing his goals regarding little Rickard, and their shared goal had kept the tensions among them somewhat at bay. The constant worry that his deal with Robert might not be enough to thwart the Lord of Rills had also prevented Ned from dwelling on his own growing bitterness. With that distraction removed, he found his mind venturing far more frequently into very dark places. 

Catelyn had been the one to realize how Robert could deny the petition to legitimize Rickard without its coming back upon Brandon or any of them. Fearing that the king would not wish to discuss his own bastards with her, Catelyn had outlined her plan to Ned and Brandon on the morning after the welcoming feast while Robert was still abed.

“Edric Storm, my lord,” she’d said simply, looking at Brandon who’d looked back her uncomprehendingly. Brandon hadn’t drunk nearly as much as Robert the previous night, but as Catelyn had told him of her pregnancy and he’d announced it with much fanfare in the Great Hall, he’d certainly shared in the celebration which followed—lifting his glass to acknowledge every toast with a healthy swig followed by kisses for Catelyn which caused raucous cheers to break out every time. Only the Ryswells and Ned had been less than celebratory. Old Rodrik had scowled at every toast to another ‘trueborn Stark of Winterfell’, and Ned’s eyes had darkened with black jealousy every time he watched his brother pull Cat to him.

“What about Edric Storm?” a somewhat irritable Brandon had asked that morning in the solar. “I’ve never laid eyes on the boy. Hell, I don’t even know if Robert has!”

Rather than responding to the question, Catelyn had turned to Ned and asked calmly, “How would the queen respond to Robert’s legitimizing Edric Storm?” 

Ned couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that had escaped him. “She’d likely stab him in his sleep.” Cersei Lannister was her father’s daughter—prideful and vengeful in equal measure. And while she was fiercely protective of her position and her children’s, she had no love of Robert at all.

“Robert isn’t fool enough to legitimize any of his bastards!” Brandon had insisted. “He’s a king with two trueborn sons. Last thing he’d want is some jumped-up bastard making claims to his throne.”

“Precisely,” Catelyn had said firmly. “Ned, you said that Lord Ryswell had been sending out letters indicating that Robert was here to legitimize Barbery’s child. Now . . .”

“What?” Brandon had nearly exploded. He had not heart that part of it yet, as Ned had only told Catelyn of it when they’d been alone in the godswood. “Who exactly has the bloody man been writing? And what’s he been saying, Ned?”

“I don’t know everyone he’s written, Brandon,” Ned had sighed wearily. “Primarily Northmen he believes might sympathize with his cause. As for what he put in the letters, I haven’t read them. The man likes me even less than he likes you so he hardly confides in me. But I’ve heard him speaking of them with his sons on the road here. More or less, it seems that he wanted to make it clear that he was coming to Winterfell at the king’s invitation, that you desire Rickard to be legitimized, and that the king is poised to grant the request.”

Brandon had stood then, his tall frame visibly shaking with rage. But before he could produce any words, Catelyn had said quietly, “This is a good thing, my lord.”

He’d turned to gape at her as if he’d suddenly discovered his wife had three heads, and even Ned had wondered what she was getting at.

“A good thing,” she’d repeated, her voice remaining steady. “Sit down, Brandon.”

Remarkably enough, Brandon had simply complied, and Catelyn had continued. “So many letters sent winging in so many directions. It was almost inevitable that some would find their way to unintended recipients. When word reached the Florents that Robert intended to legimitize . . .”

“The Florents?” Brandon had interrupted. “How do you know . . .”

“I am making this up,” Catelyn had said in a very precise tone. “Now, please pay attention. The Florents were incensed, of course. The king would lift up the child of Brandon Stark’s Northern whore—don’t interrupt me, Brandon, that’s exactly how the Florents would see her—but not his own child which he’d forced upon a maiden daughter of their house? A maiden daughter who was subsequently married off in shame to a household knight? Where is the justice in that, my lords?”

She’d looked coolly between the two of them, and Ned had begun to see her reasoning. “There is no justice in it,” he’d said. “And the Florents would demand Edric be legitimized as well. And Robert cannot afford to do that.”

“He doesn’t have to do it. He’s the bloody king, for the gods’ sake!” Brandon had protested. “He doesn’t have to answer to House Florent!”

“No,” Ned had said, taking Catelyn’s argument and running with it. “But House Florent is in the Reach where Robert is hardly beloved for all that Mace Tyrell bent the knee rather than lose his head. The Florents could likely gather support there for such a demand.”

“And the Tyrells will hardly be pleased when they hear of Robert’s intention to put the Martells back into the line of succession to the throne through a child of Ned’s and Princess Arianne’s,” Catelyn had added. Ned had tried unsuccessfully not to be affected by the emotionless way she spoke of his having a child with another woman. “It would be politically foolish of him to anger the Reach even before such plans are made known. And to do such a thing for no reason other than to indulge the paternal whims of a barely civilized Northman who prays to trees?” She’d raised her brow and given Brandon such a disdainful look that Ned had nearly laughed in spite of the seriousness of the conversation.

Brandon, to his credit, had recognized both that she was merely speaking in the manner they all knew the southron lords spoke of the North and that she was enjoying teasing him just a bit. “You are not as funny as you believe you are, my lady,” he’d said, although the corners of his own mouth had twitched a bit. “In any case, this yarn you spin is preposterous. Alester Florent is a hardly a man to challenge a king over his niece’s ruined cunt. And never would he back a bastard over a seated monarch. Even if he felt himself in the right, the man wouldn’t have the spine for it!”

“I think you’re right about Lord Florent, Brandon,” Ned had said quietly. “But it doesn’t matter. Another man in his position might easily make such a demand. And Rodrik Ryswell doesn’t know Alester Florent, does he? It’s reasonable to assume he might imagine him a man similar to himself. After all, we know how far Lord Rodrik is willing to go to back his daughter’s bastard.”

Brandon had appeared thoughtful. “Robert knows it’s ridiculous, though. He speaks of bedding Delena Florent as if it’s a jape when he’s had enough to drink—even if Florent men are present. He knows they’re no threat to him whatever he does.”

“Robert doesn’t have to believe it. Only to sell it. And he owes me this, Brandon. Whatever else Robert may have done or not done, when he’s given me his word on something, he’s kept it.”

Brandon had sighed. “All right then. Let the man wake up and recover from the headache he likely has. Then you tell him all this, Ned. I’ll play host to the Ryswells, let them know how welcome they are and all that, but if he asks about this legitimization business, I’ll tell him that’s entirely the king’s prerogative, and there’s nothing more I can say on it.”

Ned had noted Catelyn’s eyes darken with resentment at that statement, but she’d said nothing, merely pressing her lips tightly together.

“Have you broken your fast, my lady?” he’d asked her quickly, hoping to distract her from her anger with Brandon over his continued desire to placate Rodrik Ryswell. He had his own criticisms of how his brother had handled the entire situation, but at this point there truly was no need to make Ryswell any angrier at House Stark than he already was.

She’d smiled at him. “I’m afraid I cannot eat anything this early, my lord. The babe troubles my stomach in mornings.”

Brandon’s expression brightened at her mention of the babe. “Poor Cat. At least he didn’t seem to trouble you last night.” He’d grinned at her, and Catelyn had looked down, her cheeks flushing red.

“No, my lord,” she’d said quietly. She’d made herself look at Ned after that, although she was plainly uncomfortable. “Tell His Grace not to speak with Ryswell today. We need time for the raven to arrive.”

“Raven?” Ned asked, now at as much a loss to understand her as Brandon had been earlier.

She sighed. “From Lord Arryn. Informing His Grace of Lord Florent’s . . . concern.” When Ned and Brandon both had continued to simply look at her, she’d actually rolled her eyes. “Obviously he can’t have heard of it yet! If he had, he would have informed Lord Ryswell already that he cannot possibly legitimize the bastard. Have him give it a couple days, and then he can pull Lord Ryswell aside, tell him of the raven newly arrived, wonder angrily how word of the matter even reached the Florents in the first place, bluster about the tiresome realities of politics, and then put the blame for his refusal on Jon Arryn’s inability to effectively deal with the Florents. That will put Ryswell on the defensive for ever having sent his stupid letters out and allow Robert to simply be Robert. Lord Ryswell may not know Lord Alester, but he does know the king and might question Robert’s suddenly behaving entirely out of character.”

Brandon had laughed out loud at that, rising from his seat and taking her hand to pull her up from hers. “You, my lady, have a most devious mind. Remind me never to give you reason to set it against me.” He’d pulled her against him then and kissed her soundly in spite of Ned’s being right there beside them. When he pulled his lips away from hers, he did not release her. Instead, he slid his hand down her back to grasp her backside through her thick skirt. “Your nice, round arse, however, you may put against me any time you like,” he’d said with a grin. He had released her then and turned to Ned. “I’ll come with you to the Hall, Ned. The thought of Ryswell’s face when Robert gives him a definite ‘no’ has given me quite the appetite.”

“Go on, Brandon,” Ned had said quietly. “I forgot I promised fetch Jon when we were finished here. I’ll be along with him, and we’ll see you there.”

Brandon had nodded and turned back to Catelyn who’d stood frozen in place, looking quite pale except for the crimson in her cheeks. Brandon hadn’t seemed to notice, simply nodding to her and taking his leave.

“I’m sorry for that,” she’d whispered without looking at him as soon as Brandon had gone from the room. 

“It isn’t your fault,” Ned had said quickly, praying that his face gave no hint of what watching his brother touch her and speak to her that way had done to him.

She had looked at him then, and he’d seen the shame in her eyes as easily as he saw the tears. “I do not want him to touch me, Ned. I swear I don’t.” 

Her voice had broken at the last, and it had killed him to hear it. The pain on her face convicted him of his sins. Whatever Brandon had done to her, he was the one who caused her to feel shame in lying with her own husband. Yet his own guilt in no way lessened his anger toward Brandon for his careless treatment of her.

“He . . . he doesn’t hurt you, does he?” he’d asked, a sickening and almost certainly unfair suspicion taking hold in his mind as she stood there looking so small and miserable.

“No!” she’d said quickly. “Gods, no! Brandon . . . Brandon isn’t . . .” She’d bit her lip hard, and he realized now she’d been struggling to speak honestly without wounding him. “He would never hurt me physically, Ned,” she’d said finally. “And when he . . . comes to my bed . . . he is . . . mindful of me. It isn’t painful or even unpleasant.” She’d said the last in a rush and then bit her lip once more and looked down as if fearful she’d said too much to him.

He’d hated the way he felt then. He didn’t want her unhappy. He didn’t. But the thought of her finding any pleasure in Brandon’s bed filled him with the desire to murder his brother—a brother he loved. He’d found himself unable to speak at all—immobilized by the veritable war of thoughts and emotions inside him.

“Ned?” she’d said hesitantly after a moment, and he’d realized he’d actually turned away from her. When he’d turned back to face her, the tears he’d seen pooling in her eyes were running down her cheeks.

Whatever she saw on his face caused her to shake her head slowly. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “In my chamber, Brandon does treat me as a husband should. But it doesn’t matter. He is not the man I want there. And while I will never turn him away, I do not want him to touch me. Every time he comes to me, I know I wrong you both. And I can’t change that.”

“You have never wronged me, Cat,” he’d told her. He could see she didn’t believe him although he spoke truly. She had wronged Brandon when she lay with Ned and again when she allowed Brandon to believe that Arya was his child. But she had suffered for it. Surely, even the gods would consider her punished enough by now. Or mayhap, truly just gods would even consider the ledger still tipped in her favor as Brandon had certainly wronged her more willfully and more often. But she had never once wronged Ned, and he wished he could make her believe it. She’d hurt him, yes. As he’d hurt her. They couldn’t stop hurting each other any more than they could stop loving each other, but she’d never wronged him.

She’d smiled at him sadly. “You always believe the best of me,” she’d told him. “And you are the one person who knows the worst of me. How could I ever stop loving you? Even knowing what my love has cost you, I never will stop, Ned. And I wouldn’t want to even if I could.” She’d come to him, kissed him softly on his cheek, and then walked very quickly to the door before turning around to face him. “I want you to be happy, Ned. I honestly hope you find some comfort with this Princess of Dorne. But I also find myself sometimes suddenly hoping she falls from a horse or down a staircase, gods forgive me. So before you take on all the guilt for all the wrongs in your life and mine, remember that I am hardly innocent. I am capable of wishing death on a young girl I’ve never met simply because she can have you and I cannot.”

She’d turned and left without giving him a chance to respond, and they spent no time alone together for the next six days, during which time Robert, having been informed of Catelyn’s scheme by Ned, spoke with Rodrik Ryswell, effectively dashing the man’s hopes of a royal legitimization permanently. One week after arriving to Winterfell in the company of the king and full of confidence and ambition, the Lord of the Rills went home defeated, sullen, and empty-handed, although first there’d been that terrible scene in the courtyard which had led to two of the most difficult conversations and some of the blackest thoughts Ned Stark had ever had in his life.

“Are you ready, brother?”

Brandon’s cheerful voice pulled him back to the present. When Ned saw his brother riding toward him, already mounted up and ready to go, he smiled back. He needed to keep his mind here and now as he could do nothing about the past however much it invaded his thoughts. And it was good to have Brandon greet him with a smile. That had not been a common thing since the Ryswells’ departure.

“I am,” he replied. He swung himself up into his own saddle. “Let’s go see if our king can kill a bear, shall we?”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Oh, he’ll kill it all right. After we track it and subdue it sufficiently before allowing His Grace the honor of the fatal blow.” He snorted. “Not that he’ll tell it that way when we drag the carcass back to Winterfell.”

Ned laughed. “No. He certainly won’t.”

Brandon grinned at him, but then his expression darkened. “How long do you intend to delay your departure from Winterfell after this snowfall passes?”

Ned tried not to resent the fact that his own brother wished him gone from Winterfell almost as much as Robert did this time. “There is nothing to prevent our riding out tomorrow if this is truly a single day’s storm,” he said. “What snow remains on the ground will melt quickly enough and shouldn’t hamper the horses. But we both know Robert and his men are ill-prepared to ride through an actual snowstorm—or even to pitch camp during one. Robert is anxious to be gone, though. Had Jory not brought word of this great bear, he likely would have pushed harder to leave still today. With luck, we’ll ride south tomorrow.”

Brandon nodded. “I hope so. I will miss you, brother. But I believe it is time we all return to our places.”

_So you no longer consider Winterfell my place, do you Brandon?_ In truth, his brother was right. Second sons had no place in their ancestral home once they became men. Ned had known that all his life, but Brandon had always been eager to have him remain at his side in the past. None of his departures from Winterfell had ever been sweet, but this one might be the bitterest of all—leaving Catelyn and their daughter forever, leaving Jon at least for now, anticipating a future he did not want, and leaving with the knowledge of this new tension between his brother and himself—one he may never fully resolve as he never intended to return to Winterfell.

“I will miss you, too, Bran,” he said softly, using the old childhood nickname that Brandon had given up years ago. “But you are correct. We all have our places and our duties.”

Robert called after them then, accusing them of delaying the hunt, and the party all departed Winterfell to ride for the Wolfswood.

The ride passed pleasantly enough. Robert had been entirely oblivious to everything that had passed between himself and Brandon in the wake of Lord Ryswell’s departure and he kept up a stream of conversation, much of it bawdy, all of it entertaining, as they rode. Brandon and Ned laughed frequently, sometimes with their friend, and sometimes—catching each other’s eyes around the man who rode between them—in shared hilarity at the ridiculousness of some of Robert’s tales.

Ned had honestly begun to enjoy the company of both his brother and his king on this crisp, grey morning when Robert again brought up Catelyn. “So since you told me how that delectable wife of yours delayed your joining us this morning, Stark, I’ve been wondering something.” 

Brandon gave Ned only the slightest of glances before grinning at Robert to reply, “And what might that be, Your Grace?”

“That remarkable head of hair she has . . . is that color found . . . other places as well?” Robert asked with what Ned considered a most inappropriate leering expression on his face.

“Indeed it is,” Brandon said, grinning. “Not that you or any other man will ever see it, Your Grace.” He then turned to look at Ned with much less laughter in his eyes. 

Ned fought down the urge to call him out on speaking of his lady wife so shamefully. He also forced himself to keep his eyes open and on the path ahead of him, feeling shamed himself by the image of Catelyn’s naked body standing before him in her chambers—the sight of that glorious, bright triangle at the juncture of her thighs, not truly the precise same color as the hair on her red, but very slightly darker—the taste of her as he pressed his lips and tongue to that place where . . .

“Well, I doubt you’ll be able to see it yourself much longer!” Robert laughed. “Now that you’ve managed to get her with child again!” Robert used one hand to trace an enormously pregnant belly in the air ahead of him, and Ned regretted having looked toward him when he spoke.

His jape caused Brandon to laugh, however. “I fear you’re correct,” he said ruefully. “It seems Cat swells bigger and more quickly with each subsequent babe. All the more reason you shouldn’t begrudge my lingering in her chamber this morning, Your Grace. I should enjoy her charms while I can, after all—before she’s too big to stir a man to much passion.”

Ned felt vaguely ill. He could still hear the embarrassment in Catelyn’s voice when he’d arrived to Winterfell to discover Brandon had left her alone while she carried Bran to be with his mistress. _He …he does not care for my body when it’s swollen with child._ He also recalled clearly his brother’s words about Barbrey Dustin when he’d finally returned to Winterfell from Barrow Hall and confessed to Ned that his lover was also with child. _I crave her. Even as big with child as she is now, I found myself wanting her._

He very much wished to be anywhere else as he felt the anger toward his brother’s treatment of his wife burning inside him even more. _You’re a fool, Brandon. A blind, damned fool too stupid to see what a gift the gods have seen fit to grant you._ He would not help Catelyn by fighting with Brandon today, however, and he clenched his jaw as tightly as he could, vowing silently not to speak or look at either of the other men.

Robert made a sympathetic sort of noise, and then offered, “Well, I saw quite a few pretty enough girls around Winterfell who might keep you occupied. None to quite match Lady Catelyn’s rare beauty, of course, but one who’s young and slim with nice firm teats might be just the thing for a man whose lady wife is all swollen up from breeding.”

Ned took very slow breaths through his nose, looked straight ahead, and waited for Brandon to object to the man’s words, king or not. Brandon, however, remained silent. At least he didn’t laugh or agree. _That’s what he’ll do, though,_ Ned thought bitterly. _Within two moon’s turns, he’d leave Catelyn alone in her chambers and fuck any young girl who smiled at him instead._ Before he could berate himself over the hypocrisy of resenting his brother both for taking Catelyn to bed and for spurning her in favor of others, Robert spoke again.

“Just try not to take your ease with any of your bannermen’s daughters this time, Brandon!” Robert laughed uproariously at his own jape and seemed untroubled by the fact that he laughed alone. Ned hazarded a glance toward Brandon and saw that he now rode with his eyes fixed directly ahead of him with murderous anger lurking in his eyes.

Ned couldn’t stand being here with either of them a moment longer. “We’re almost to the place Jory spotted that bear,” he said without looking at them. “I’m going to ride ahead and see if he or the men he sent out earlier have found any trace of it.”

He kicked his horse and galloped ahead of his brother and king without waiting for any reply. Jory wasn’t far ahead, and he told Ned that he and his companions had found tracks leading into the dense growth off to the left of the path.

“The horses can’t really go that way,” Ned said.

“No,” Jory agreed. “I’ve sent Aryk and Darrin ahead—moving out to either side just so . . .” He motioned with his arms to indicate to Ned what directions his companions had taken. “I waited here for the rest of you. We can all dismount and secure the horses here and then go out in pairs to hopefully surround the beast. Whoever sights it first can signal, and then if we can approach and spear it from different directions, we can keep it too confused to attack any one man.”

Ned nodded. “A solid enough plan.” Thinking that he had no desire to be paired with Brandon or Robert, he said, “I’d prefer that Darrin and Aryk not both remain alone, however. I’ll go out and join Darrin. The others are right behind me. When they arrive, you can follow after Aryk, and have the rest of the men pair up. His Grace will likely want to be paired with Brandon. Remind the other men that this hunt is for Robert’s benefit. Our job is to get the bear in a position for him to kill it, and to keep him safe.”

Jory nodded. “It really is a damn big bear, Ned.”

All bears were big, and had another man said it, Ned would have believed this bear likely no different from any other. But Jory was not given to exaggeration, and he’d certainly seen bears before. Ned had been with him on a few of those occasions.

“So we take extra care with it,” he said simply. “And make our strikes count.”

With that, he dismounted and, unfastening the bear spear from his horse, walked in the direction Jory said Darrin had gone. It was almost silent in the wood, as if all life there anticipated the coming snow and was sheltering in expectation of it. Ned had no company save his own thoughts, and those stubbornly kept returning to the day the Ryswells left.

He’d stood in the courtyard with Brandon and Catelyn. None of the children were there. Robert had arrived late and only seen the Ryswell party riding out at a rather quick speed. Ser Rodrik Cassel had been there, however, as well as Jory, Maester Luwin, Vayon Poole and a fair number of men-at-arms. And all those men had witnessed what occurred.

It had been several days since Robert had broken the news to Lord Ryswell that Rickard was not to be legitimized, and the man had been foul tempered ever since. A sane man would only dare push a king so far, and Rodrik Ryswell, while ambitious, was not insane, so as long as Robert was present, the man and his sons were surly and unpleasant, but not blatantly insulting to anyone. Fights, however began breaking out between Winterfell men and Rills men, and even Lord Ryswell’s son Rickard had become involved in one altercation and been slightly injured. When Lord Ryswell had demanded that the soldier involved be punished, no one would identify him. Ned had been able to get Jory to say only that Rickard Ryswell had deserved what he got and more, and that no one in Winterfell would tolerate words such as that man spoke. What specifically the man had said, Jory wouldn’t repeat, but Ned had heard enough snide comments from the Ryswells about the lack of Stark physical features in his nephews and niece to imagine the gist of it.

Lord Ryswell had finally realized that no amount of flattery, badgering, or outright demanding was going to sway Robert on the subject of legitimization, and he had announced at the evening meal one night that his party would depart for the Rills come the morrow. That dinner had been no more uncomfortable than any previous meals, and in some ways less tense as everyone knew that at least they wouldn’t be forced to endure one another’s company much longer.

That next morning in the courtyard, Ryswell’s sons made very perfunctory farewells to those present, expressing fealty to Brandon although obviously taking no pleasure in it. They had already mounted their horses when Lord Ryswell strode over to where the three of them stood—Brandon and Ned standing with Catelyn between them. The man didn’t even speak to Ned—he wasn’t the Lord of Wintefell and therefore not worthy of notice in his eyes.

“Lord Stark,” he’d said to Brandon. “I thank you for your hospitality. I regret King Robert’s decision regarding your son, but I am certain you did all in your power to sway him.”

His voice had made it clear he was certain of precisely the opposite, and all of the Starks knew that. Brandon had only given a curt nod and replied, “You are always welcome here, Lord Ryswell—as a loyal bannerman of Winterfell and as Rickard’s grandfather.”

The older man had pursed his lips and then said, “I trust you will look after him well . . . for the love you bore my daughter.”

Ned had heard the sharp intake of Catelyn’s breath and felt her tense beside him. Restraining himself from reaching to touch her had been difficult. 

“Your daughter deserved a better fate,” Brandon had said simply, neither confirming nor refuting that he’d loved the woman. Ned supposed he likely had loved her—at least as much as Brandon was capable of such love. Regardless, for Ryswell to speak of any such thing here was a terrible insult to Catelyn, and Ned had waited to hear something more from his brother—something to remind Ryswell that the Lady of Winterfell stood before him. “Lady Barbrey’s memory will be honored for her son’s sake,” Brandon continued after a moment. “And Rickard will be cared for well because he is my son.”

Something almost like a smile had crossed Ryswell’s face then. “Very well. I wish you luck with your new child, my lord. May it be a son, and may he bear a face that declares him yours for all the world to see.”

Ned had barely processed the man’s words when Catelyn, whom Ryswell had been ignoring as completely as he had been ignoring Ned, had said quietly, but quite clearly, “Would care to explain what you mean by that remark, my lord?”

Ryswell had turned to look at her then. “Why, nothing, my lady, except that every man wishes to have a son in his own image. Tis a pity that the only son of Lord Stark’s whom every man can look at and know to be his is a bastard. Surely, you would want to give your husband a son who is clearly a Stark.”

Catelyn had been visibly shaking when she spoke next. “How dare you, Rodrik Ryswell! All of my sons are Starks. Trueborn Starks! And I will not suffer your insinuations.”

“Catelyn,” Brandon had said, “I am certain Lord Ryswell does not mean anything by . . .”

Catelyn had turned to look at Brandon in shock. Her face had been crimson from both shame and anger, but it went ashen white as she heard her husband come to Lord Ryswell’s defense rather than her own. Ned had then seen the satisfied smile on Rodrik Ryswell’s face, and he had not been able to remain silent any longer.

“You will apologize to the Lady of Winterfell,” he said darkly, stepping forward. 

“I will do no such thing,” Ryswell had stated flatly.

“You will, my lord, or you will regret it,” Ned had said in a low voice, placing his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “You seem to have forgotten your place. She is Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell, wife to your liege lord and mother to your future liege lord.”

“Will you draw your steel on me, Ned Stark?” Ryswell had said then. “For the sake of a southern wench no one wants here, but that your father foisted upon your lord brother in some ill-advised scheme? Would you shed the blood of a loyal Northman here in the courtyard of Winterfell?”

Ned had drawn his sword at the words ‘southern wench’ and stood in front of Catelyn.

“Enough!” Brandon had finally shouted. “I will not have this from either of you!”

The Lord of the Rills, apparently completely having lost his senses momentarily, had turned to Brandon and nearly shouted himself, “My daughter should have been your lady wife!”

Those words had seemed to stun Brandon. He, too, had stepped forward then, but he’d taken Catelyn’s arm and pulled her with him. “No,” he’d said coldly, his voice quiet and controlled, but not friendly or conciliatory in the least. “I told you that Barbrey’s son will be taught to honor her memory. But she was not my wife. She was never meant to be my wife. You look upon my lady wife now, my lord. I will never have another, and you will give her all the respect she is due from this moment forward or you shall answer to me. Now apologize to Lady Catelyn and leave Winterfell immediately.”

Ryswell had stared at Brandon for a moment and then turned back to Catelyn. “My apologies, Lady Stark,” he’d said rather curtly. Then he’d bowed to Catelyn and then Brandon and turned on his heel. When he’d mounted his horse to ride out, he’d kicked it hard, racing ahead of his sons and men toward the gates. The rest of the Ryswell party had sped after him, and Robert had come walking up to ask what their bloody hurry was.

No one had answered him. Brandon and Ned had stood there glaring at each other. Ned hadn’t realized he still stood there holding up a sword until Catelyn whispered in a hoarse voice, “Put your steel away, Ned.”

“Yes, dammit! And don’t you ever draw a weapon on a guest of mine again!” Brandon had shouted. “Don’t you ever dare speak for me, Ned! You are not the Lord of Winterfell!”

“No, Brandon! You are! So why don’t you act like it? How could you stand there and let him say such things? Catelyn is your wife, for the gods’ sake!”

“Yes! My wife! She isn’t your wife and this isn’t your castle, Ned! You had no right to . . .”

“Would the two of you stop shouting at each other and tell me what in the seven hells happened here?” Robert had thundered over their shouting.

Both he and Brandon had turned to look at Robert, and Ned had seen the faces of far too many men staring at them. He’d turned to look at Catelyn and seen the tears she barely held in check as she fought to keep her too pale face expressionless. “I think we should go inside,” he’d said, forcing his voice to be relatively calm.

“Yes, we should,” Brandon had said, still looking at Robert. “But I need to speak to my brother alone. I’ll talk with you afterward, Your Grace.” He’d turned to Catelyn then and his voice softened tremendously as he took both of her hands in his. “Go inside to the children, Cat,” he’d almost whispered. Ned doubted anyone else had been close enough to hear his words. “This is over now,” he’d continued. “Do not let the man concern you anymore.”

She’d looked up at her husband without speaking for a long moment and then nodded. She’d turned to look at Ned for the briefest of moments, but then gone toward the Great Keep without speaking to anyone.

“I want to know what’s going on,” Robert had said irritably. 

“And you shall, Your Grace,” Ned had assured him. “But my brother and I need to speak to each other. Go and break your fast, Robert, and we’ll find you soon.” 

Robert had still looked thoroughly annoyed with both of them, but he’d gone, and Ned had followed his brother into the Great Keep and up to the lord’s solar. As soon as the door had been shut behind them, Brandon had rounded on him. “Don’t ever do that again, Ned!”

“Do what? Defend Catelyn against vicious, slanderous insults? I’m afraid I can’t promise you that, Brandon.”

“Defending Catelyn is not your place, Ned! It’s mine!”

“Then do it, Brandon! Defend her! My gods, she was shaking like a leaf! That man all but accused her of cuckolding you right there in the courtyard—in your very presence! And you tried to make excuses for him!”

“I did not make . . .”

“You did! I was standing right there! The man insulted her, and she had to call him it out for it herself! With both of us standing beside her! That should never have happened, Brandon! We should have called him out immediately!”

“We? Don’t you mean that I should have called him out?” Brandon had asked him, raising a brow.

“Yes! Yes, of course, it should have been you. But you said nothing to him. You all but professed love for Barbrey Ryswell with Catelyn standing right beside you, and then made excuses for your lover's bloody father when your _wife_ was rightfully offended by his words! So, yes! I called him out, and I’m not sorry I did it, Brandon. I’m only sorry I waited as long as I did!”

“You made quite a spectacle in the courtyard, pulling a sword on a leal bannerman, Ned. You know Ryswell’s going to tell that story far and wide. He’ll accuse you of having no honor and accuse me of having no control over my own brother!”

“I don’t bloody care, Brandon! Why aren’t we telling the story? The true story? Why don’t we make known what the man has been doing? You aren’t without power, you know. You are Lord of Winterfell!”

“Yes! I am Lord of Winterfell! And it’s a thankless title, I’ll have you know! I have to think about everything and everybody in the whole bloody North, Ned, while you have the luxury of concerning yourself only with Catelyn’s feelings! I’m sorry, Ned, but she simply isn’t the most important consideration here. I have to . . .”

“She is! She deserves so much better than you’ve given her, Brandon! She’s everything you could possibly want, and you don’t even see it!” The words had left his mouth before he even consciously knew what he’d said, and then they had hung there in the air as he and his brother looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time.

“My gods,” Brandon had finally said, all of the heat gone from his words. He stared at Ned as if dumfounded. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Brandon,” Ned had said quickly. “Catelyn is your wife.”

“Yes,” Brandon had said very slowly. “She is my wife. And it seems my brother is in love with her.”

“She’s my goodsister, Brandon,” Ned had almost whispered, looking down.

“Look at me and tell me you don’t want her.” 

Terrified of what his face might reveal, Ned had continued to look down. “I’m your brother, Brandon. I would never . . .”

“I didn’t ask if you’d had her, Ned,” Brandon had said flatly, and Ned had looked up at him in shock. Brandon had actually laughed then, although there was a bitter sound to it. “Oh, I know better than that. Catelyn wouldn’t stand for it even if you did take such a notion. And you wouldn’t, of course. Not with all your legendary honor, brother.” He’d shaken his head. “You’ve judged me and found me lacking as a husband for years. Is this why? Because you want her for yourself? Is that why you’ve never taken a wife? Because you want mine?” The angry edge in his voice had returned by the time he’d asked the last question.

Unable to lie to his brother’s face about his feelings for Catelyn, Ned instead had attacked him back. “I am not the Stark who takes what he wants whether it is right or wrong! It matters little what I feel or don’t feel for your wife as she is your wife, and I bloody well know it! But as Catelyn’s goodbrother and a Stark of Winterfell, I will be damned if I just stand by and allow the Lady of Winterfell to be insulted to her face. You should feel the same, Brandon!”

“I will take care of my own damn wife! Do you understand me?” Brandon had walked directly up to him and stood so close that Ned had to look up slightly to look him in the eye. “You think you know Cat, Ned. But you don’t. You don’t know her like I do. She’s tough and she’s smart, and she’ll not let a worm like Rodrik Ryswell hurt her. Oh, she may bluster a bit or even cry, but she won’t break. She knows who she is. And yes, she’s probably angry enough at me to skewer me right now, but I’ll come to her bed tonight and let her rake my back with her nails and bite my flesh if she wishes while I have her naked underneath me, and we’ll both feel better afterwards.”

Ned couldn’t imagine what had been on his face as Brandon spoke those words, but whatever his expression had revealed, it had made Brandon laugh. “Oh, yes. That’s just one more thing you don’t truly know about my lady wife. You seethe when I kiss her in the Great Hall because she blushes and you worry I’ve offended her. But you don’t know what she’s like in bed, Ned. She’s certainly more than you could handle, little brother. You’re far too cold for a woman like Cat, so whatever it is you think you feel, you need to forget about it. She isn’t for you.”

“I know that, Brandon!” Ned had finally shouted, responding only to the very last sentence Brandon had uttered. “I know she isn’t for me. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy watching you hurt her. And you do hurt her, dammit! With your careless womanizing and your bastard son and your disregard for her feelings!”

“I do not disregard my wife!”

“You do! Oh, you respect her mind. You listen to her when she speaks most of the time, and you are honest with her in all matters that don’t concern where you stick your cock. But there is more to being a good husband, Brandon—the husband Catelyn deserves.”

“And you think you could do better.” Brandon had said derisively. “You’re wrong. Catelyn was born and raised to be the wife of a high lord—not a second son. And however I feel about it, I am a high lord. And you never will be.”

“I know that well,” Ned had said. “I am also your brother. And I always will be. Whatever else you think of me, you know that I would rather die than betray you.”

Brandon had been quiet for a long time. Finally, he’d turned and walked to his chair behind his desk to sink wearily into it. “I do know that,” he’d sighed. “But now I can’t even look at you without also knowing you want my wife. I’d have any other man beaten and tossed out of Winterfell at the very least if I suspected the same.”

“Brandon . . .”

“Don’t say anything else, Ned. I trust you. I do. But I can’t have you here, looking at her and imagining . . . gods! I can’t have you here.” He’d shaken his head. “And you cannot tell her of this. It would break her heart to think of you hurting. She loves you as I do. And for all that you think I care nothing for her feelings, I’d not have her feel responsible for any hurt you’ve brought on yourself.”

“I would never want that, either. And I have no intention of staying here. Jon must stay . . . at least until I know precisely where my future lies. And then I will send for him. I’d thought perhaps to take him with me now, but . . . I see no point in settling him somewhere only to have to uproot him again. Winterfell is the only home he’s known.”

“Jon can stay here forever. I loved her, too. And Jon is . . .”

“Jon is my son, Brandon,” Ned had said quietly. “We made that choice long ago, and there is no going back on it. He deserves a father who wants him. And I do want him. Once I have settled in a place where I can keep him by me, if he chooses to remain in Winterfell, I’ll accept that. But I’d have him know his father wants him.”

Brandon had nodded. “All right. I suppose there isn’t anything else to say, is there?”

“No,” Ned had answered. “Except that I will always help you if you need me, Brandon. You, Catelyn, your children. Or Benjen at the Wall. I am brother or uncle to all of you. And I always will be.”

He’d walked out of the solar then, leaving Brandon sitting with his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. Ned had found himself unable to breathe as the enormity of what had just occurred overwhelmed him. Brandon knew. Brandon knew that his brother was in love with his wife. And nothing could ever be the same between the two of them again. He’d sat in the godswood before the heart tree for a very long time, replaying the conversation over and over—sometimes hating himself, sometimes hating Brandon, often hating both of them. He’d recalled Catelyn standing between them in the courtyard as Ryswell spewed filth about her—between them. Forever between them, and now Brandon knew it. 

He hadn’t known what to do about Catelyn. Whether to tell her what Brandon knew and more importantly what he didn’t, or to protect her from the pain of such knowledge. Was she more likely to give herself away if she knew her husband was now aware of Ned’s feelings but believed them to be entirely one-sided or if she continued to remain in the dark. He’d agonized over the decision for what seemed like hours. He’d never lied to Catelyn about anything save Jon, and he hated to think that what would in all likelihood be their final parting would put another lie between them. But would this knowledge cause her nothing but pain?

As it happened, that decision had been taken from him.

“Lord Eddard? Lord Eddard, are you all right?”

Ned startled and looked up at the concerned face of Darrin, a young soldier from Winterfell. He’d been so lost in his black thoughts that it seemed he’d sat down against a tree to think and actually closed his eyes. He didn’t remember doing that.

“I’m fine, Darrin,” he said. “I was coming to find you, and I stepped on a stone. Twisted my ankle just a bit and sat down to rest it.”

“Ah. Will it be all right to walk on, do you think, my lord?”

“It’s all right now,” he said. “I fear I simply got too comfortable sitting there.”

Darrin grinned. “Well, I’ve not found our bear yet, my lord, but I’ve got us a good place to stay and watch for it. You can sit there as long as you like while we wait.”

Ned got to his feet, pretending to step gingerly on his left foot for the first few paces, and discussed Jory’s plan with Darrin.

“Yeah, that’s what he told us, too, my lord. The beastie has to be somewhere between us and Aryk so if we position men all around, it should come toward one of us. We’ve got a signal for when somebody sees it, and another that Jory’ll give if nobody signals for a time. Then we all move in a bit and wait for awhile closer in. It’s like tightening a noose, see?”

Ned nodded. “I see.”

_Tightening a noose._ That’s how he’d felt in Winterfell these past few days. As if he’d had a noose around his neck forever tightening with no way for him to escape it. Brandon was a possessive man. Regardless of how many other women he’d bedded during the course of his marriage to Catelyn, the very idea that Ned might harbor some unrequited desire to bed his wife had provoked an intense jealousy in his brother. He’d taken perverse pleasure in fondling Cat more than ever in Ned’s presence, almost as if he were testing to see how much he could take. Ned had caught him watching him closely whenever Cat was around, as if he suspected that Ned might carry her off somewhere. That had made any conversation with her impossible, but at least had allowed him to put off any decision about what to tell her about Brandon’s new insight. Until she had come to him.

“This is our spot, Lord Eddard. If we climb up in the first branch of this tree, we’ve got just enough height to see around pretty well, but we’re low enough to jump down quickly if we see it anywhere.”

“Good cover, too,” Ned said approvingly. And the branch was large enough to make a comfortable perch. He climbed up after Darrin and leaned back against the trunk. Immediately his mind went to the conversation with Catelyn which had taken place only two days after the one with Brandon.

She’d come to his room. His room! She’d never come there before, and she let herself in without even knocking.

“Catelyn!” he’d said, stunned. Fortunately, he was already up and dressed for the day.

“We must talk, and we don’t have much time,” she’d said.

“I . . . you can’t be here, Cat. Brandon will . . .”

“Brandon is an arse. And he’s in the armory. Ser Rodrik needed him to come see about something so we have a few moments.”

“But you cannot be in my room! The servants . . .”

“No one saw me come here, and you can go out and make sure it’s clear before I leave. Ned . . . What have you said to Brandon?”

“What have I said . . ? I . . .”

“He’s suddenly jealous of you. He says the most terrible things, and he keeps asking me questions? Ned . . . what happened? What does he suspect?” She’d looked terrified, and guilt-ridden, and sad, and so damn beautiful, he’d wanted desperately to take her into his arms.

“He doesn’t suspect anything,” he’d sighed. “He knows that I am in love with you.”

The blue eyes went wide with shock and terror then, and he did move to place his hands on her arms. “And that is all he knows,” he’d said firmly. “Nothing else. Nothing else at all.”

“But . . . how? Why would you tell him that?”

“I didn’t. Not directly. He guessed after that business with Rodrik Ryswell. He took pretty strong offense at my stepping in to defend your honor, and I was incensed that he hadn’t done more on that count himself. We argued, and it and seems I gave myself away.”

“Oh, Ned!” She shook her head. “I should have held my tongue that day! I don’t know why I let that vile little man get to me like that! I just . . .”

“No! You were entirely in the right. Ryswell was in the wrong, and so was my damned brother. The only regret I have is that I waited so long before calling him out myself.”

“Oh gods! You told him that?”

“I did. And I stand by it. He knows that, Cat. I didn’t ever actually say I loved you. I didn’t have to. He obviously could see something in my face which left no doubt in his mind. So I chose not to defend myself on that score. He cannot blame you for something you are unaware of, and to his mind, you are unaware. He stated plainly there’s no possible way you could ever return my feelings and even admitted he didn’t believe I’d ever betray him by acting on them.”

“Oh, Ned,” she’d said sadly. “He’s such an idiot. He doesn’t know me at all. Not the way you do. You realize that, don’t you?”

“I do, my love. But it’s better for you that he believes me beneath your notice—less of a man than you need.”

At that, fire had sparked in the blue of her eyes. “I hate him,” she’d said vehemently. “I swear to the gods, I hate him.” 

“You don’t,” Ned had said hurriedly. “You don’t, Cat, and you mustn’t even think it in anger.”

“You are more a man than he will ever be. A good man. An honorable man. A man who . . .”

“Slept with his brother’s wife and got her with child,” Ned had interrupted before she could continue listing his virtues.

“Oh gods,” she’d said, tears spilling from her eyes as his words took the heat from her anger, replacing it with guilt and despair. “What do we do? What can we do?”

“Nothing, Cat. We can do nothing. I’ll leave here with Robert. I’ll wed in Dorne or somewhere else far to the south, and we’ll likely never see each other again. It’s probably best that we never see each other again.”

“How can you say that? I know that it must be this way, but I can’t even breathe if I think I won’t see you again.”

“You’ll keep breathing, Cat. You’ll hurt sometimes, but you’ll keep breathing. And you and Brandon and the children will be happy here in Winterfell. 

She shook her head.

“You will,” he’d said firmly. “The two of you have been married a decade, Cat. For all that’s wrong between you, there is a bond. The children, for one thing. And you do make a good team when you work together.” Such words had nearly killed him to say, but he couldn’t leave her broken. No more broken than she’d already been at least.

“But the things he’s been saying about you . . .” She shook her head. “I can no more ignore it than you could ignore Ryswell’s treatment of me. And if he saw something in your face, Ned . . . my gods, what will he see in mine?”

“Nothing, Cat. Nothing at all. Because you will ignore it. If he makes a jape at my expense, laugh and then tell him he shouldn’t say such things about poor Ned. If he asks if you’ve ever thought about me in any way other than as a goodbrother, look at him as if he’s lost his mind, and then laugh. Do you understand me? Brandon loves nothing so much as laughter. So laugh with him, Cat. I won’t hear it. It can’t harm me.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You can. You’re stronger than I am, and a good deal smarter. Just look at the children, and remember to laugh and smile for your husband.” He’d taken a deep breath and then added. “Doing so won’t always be a trial, Cat. You do care for my brother, however angry you are with him now. And he does care for you. Mayhap he’ll learn to care for you even better. I told him you deserved better from him.”

“Ned!”

He’d shrugged. “He already knows I’m in love with you. It hardly surprised him to hear me call him a poor husband.”

She’d bravely tried to laugh at that, but didn’t quite succeed. After a moment, she’d said, “I love you so much I wonder sometimes how it is that everyone doesn’t see it.”

“I see it,” he’d whispered. “And I’ll see it wherever I am, and sometimes it will tear me apart to know that you’re smiling with Brandon, that you’re safe in his arms when you can’t be in mine . . .”

“Oh, Ned, I don’t want to . . .”

“But I don’t care if it tears me apart, Cat,” he’d interrupted. “Whatever dark moments I have, whatever jealousy I cannot help but feel, more than all of it, I’ll want you happy. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” she’d whispered. “Because I feel the same way.”

“Let me see if anyone is in the corridor. If I don't come back right away, you’ll know someone’s about. I can’t just stick my head out and wave at people. However long it takes, don’t walk out until I come back, all right?”

“I don’t want to go.” The tears still fell freely from her eyes, and he’d realized she needed to dry those before she left his room.

“And yet you will,” he’d said softly. “You will dry your eyes and walk away from me today, and soon I will hold my breath and ride away from you, and mayhap, someday, we’ll both learn to smile and breathe more easily again.”

“I love you,” she’d whispered. “But I’ll find the strength to let you go. I promise.”

He’d smiled at her then and bent to kiss the tears as they fell from her eyes, tasting the saltwater on his lips. “I love you, too, Cat. And I do not regret it.”

“There it is!” Darrin’s excited whisper startled him, but he managed not to fall from the tree limb. “The signal!” Darrin elaborated when Ned didn’t speak. "I heard it from somewhere just to the northeast of us.”

“Shall we move that way then?” Ned asked. “And see if we can get in on this bear kill?”

Darrin grinned. “I want to stick this beastie for sure. Jory said he’s as big a bear as he’s ever seen!”

“Well, let’s go carefully then. Mayhap we should stay here a moment and search for anything we can see or hear anything moving in that direction.”

The two men sat as still and silently as possible, scanning the terrain to the northeast and listening for any sounds. “There,” Ned said after about ten minutes pointing to a place where the foliage suddenly moved. A rather angry, non-human sound rapidly followed the movement from the same direction so both men quickly jumped down from the tree limb and ran as quietly as they could in that direction, holding their bear spears at the ready.

Ned saw the soldier before he saw the bear because the man was waving his arms and calling out, “Here! Over here!” At first, Ned thought he was trying to direct the other hunters in their group, but when he turned his eyes in the direction the man was shouting, he saw by far the largest bear he had ever seen. Standing on its hind legs, the thing was at least ten feet tall, its massive bulk almost obscuring the much smaller figure of a man lying beneath it. 

“Over here!” the first man shouted again, and Ned realized he was trying to get the bear’s attention away from the man on the ground. Neither man appeared to be armed. On closer inspection, the bear had a single spear shaft protruding from just below the left shoulder although Ned couldn’t be certain which of the two men had stuck him. 

“Bear!” Ned shouted, hoping that all of their men were now converging upon this spot. The animal gave no notice to his shout at all, seemingly preoccupied by the man already shouting and waving at him, the unmoving man at its feet, and the pain in its shoulder. It bellowed loudly again and then bent to swipe at the prone man with a powerful front claw.

“No!” Ned shouted, and charged from behind with his spear. He was unlikely to hit anything vital from this angle unless he struck deeply, but he could do some damage, and hopefully get the beasts attention away from what was undoubtedly a badly injured man at this point. 

He extended the spear as far in front of him as he could while still controlling it reasonably well and plunged it deeply into the bear’s flank. The animal screamed and turned toward him, but then was hit in the other side by two arrows. The arrows were too small to do much damage, but they did distract the bear enough for Ned to leap back away. 

As he did, he saw that Darrin managed to strike the bear with his spear as well, more on the underside. The animal now had a definite stagger to its step and it came down on all fours, shaking its massive head back and forth as it swayed and turned, puzzled by the attack that came from too many directions. 

The first man was still shouting and waving at it, and it slowly began moving in that direction. As it did so, Ned and Darrin rushed forward to drag the injured man away. His left arm was obviously broken, and he had several deep gashes from the bear’s claws across his back, but no major blood vessels seemed to have been damaged. Ned quickly pulled off his jacket and pressed it to the man’s back. 

“Circle round that way!” Ned heard his brother’s voice hiss as several other men arrived at the scene. 

“Look at that thing!” Brandon had tried to make himself heard without shouting, but Robert Baratheon did no such thing. He stood about twenty paces from the wounded bear, in plain sight of it, shouting about how magnificent it was.

“Robert, get back!” Ned hissed.

“Look at it, Ned! I’m going to take that beast down.” To Ned’s horror, his friend was not armed with the bear spear they’d given him. He was holding his war hammer.

“Robert, you can’t get that close to it, yet. It’ll kill you!” Ned shouted in exasperation.

“Wait for me, Robert,” Brandon said, appearing beside him, his bear spear held poised.

“The thing’s addled, Brandon,” Robert insisted. “The time to strike is now.”

“It takes a lot to bring one of these down,” Brandon said. “It’s confused, yes, and injured, but it could still leap here in one bound if it took a notion. Do not get in front of me. This spear is our protection.”

Robert looked as if he wanted to protest, but to Ned’s relief, he nodded. Suddenly, the bear charged the man who’d been waving at it with an alarming burst of speed. Beside him, however, stood the two men Brandon had told to circle round. They held their ground with their spears poised, and the enraged animal essentially impaled itself on the points of the spears. Ned could see right away that the men hadn’t thrust them in forcefully, however, and both strikes were fairly superficial.

The wounded bear stopped and staggered backward when it first hit the spears, but the men both let go of their spears’ shafts then, and the animal was able to knock both spear points out of its flesh as the shafts hit against the ground. 

Ned heard Brandon swear as the bear leapt forward again, landing atop one of the men who gave a bloodcurdling scream and then lay still. The two others fled toward the trees as a small volley of arrows hit the bear, and it backed off once more. Brandon was creeping ever closer, his spear extended, and Ned realized he was trying to get in position to strike deep into its chest—a dangerous strike to make, but potentially lethal for the bear if done well. Robert stalked alongside him, war hammer in hand. 

Just as Brandon appeared to be in position for a good strike, several things seemed to happen at once. Jory appeared from the opposite side of the bear, his spear raised like Brandon’s, but rather than moving with stealth, he shouted at the bear, wanting its attention, and it turned to move toward him. Aryk then rushed out from behind a stand of trees to drag the injured, possibly dead, man away. Robert, appearing to believe the bear was running away from Brandon and himself suddenly charged it, hammer held high and shouting as he did in battle. 

Unfortunately, neither Robert’s shouts nor his hammer frightened the bear. Mad with pain and thoroughly confused at this point, it turned again toward the loudest noise, which was Robert, and swiped blindly. The huge paw connected with the war hammer and knocked it from Robert’s hand. The force of the blow caused Robert to stumble and fall to his back and the bear raised itself on its hind legs over him. 

Desperate, Ned drew his sword—the only weapon left to him--and ran from where he’d been tending the first wounded man. Before he could reach the bear, however, Brandon lunged forward and struck it with his spear. He’d had to act quickly in an effort to save Robert’s life, and his aim was not as true as it would have been had he taken his time. The spear stuck the beast in the shoulder, and it turned from Robert to Brandon. Robert, recovering his wits somewhat scrambled away without standing up until he reached his war hammer.

No arrows were being fired any more as there were men all around the bear. Brandon stood entirely defenseless in the path of the bear, and Ned wondered why he didn’t at least draw his sword. He screamed at the bear as he charged, trying to draw its attention from his brother, but this time, the bear was not distracted from his prey. _Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he just standing there?_ Then Ned saw Jory Cassel, approaching with his spear once more from the other side. This time, Jory made no sound, and Ned realized Brandon was looking at Jory. He wanted Jory to take the bear unawares and was using himself as bait.

“No!!!!! Brandon, no!” Ned screamed as the bear’s claws slashed across his brother’s midsection and then again across his leg as he fell. Brandon’s screams stabbed through Ned’s heart as his sword plunged into the bear’s side. He felt the bear give a shudder and then fall to the ground which surprised him as the blow he’d struck couldn’t possibly have been fatal. 

Then he saw Jory’s spear protruding from the animal’s chest. The beast still breathed, but it was done for. Vaguely, Ned was aware of Robert Baratheon standing over the animal’s head, cursing it, and raising his war hammer to slam it down onto the bear’s skull.

There were other voices and movement all around, but Ned couldn’t make sense of any of it. He only wanted his brother. Brandon lay on his back, his lower half beneath the body of the bear. 

“Brandon!” he finally managed to say as he knelt in the mud beside his brother and the dead bear. “Brandon, talk to me!”

Brandon’s eyes had been closed, but he opened them then. “Jory was right,” he said. “That’s a damn big bear.” He closed his eyes again.

“Brandon! No! Stay awake! Open your eyes, dammit!”

Brandon’s eyes fluttered open once more. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Ned,” he said, and he tried to grin.

Ned smiled back at him. He couldn’t tell how badly Brandon was hurt since the bear carcass covered his injuries, but his brother’s face looked pale. “Help me get this thing off him!” he shouted to his men. “And send a rider to Winterfell! Tell the maester we’ve got wounded men. And bring back wagons to move them!”

“Ned . . .”

Ned looked down to see that Brandon was looking at him. “I’m right here, Brandon,” he said.

“Protect them,” Brandon rasped.

“What?”

“The children. Cat. Protect them.”

“Always. But you’re going to be fine, brother.” Several men were now working at lifting the bear’s bulk enough to pull Brandon out.

“Robb . . . Robb will be Lord of Winterfell. He’s a boy still. Don’t let . . . don’t let . . . them . . . take him.”

“Take him? Brandon, you’re the Lord of Winterfell, and no one is taking Robb anywhere. He’s at Winterfell where he belongs. With you and Catelyn.”

“Catelyn . . . don’t let them take her away. No . . . marriage.”

“Brandon, what are you talking about?” Ned asked. Then he gasped as the bear was finally raised enough that he could move Brandon out from underneath it. His brother’s belly was sliced open in several places with deep gaping wounds. His right leg bled as well, but someone was already pressing a cloth to the wound there. “Someone bind his belly!” Ned shouted. “Hang on, Brandon,” he said then.

“Ned!” Brandon said more urgently. “Listen.”

“I’m listening.” 

“Cat . . . she can help Robb rule. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ned answered him. He understood him now. He wanted Catelyn to rule the North until Robb came of age.

“No marriage. No Karstark or Bolton or fucking Rywells. She stays a Stark. Until . . . Robb . . . is grown.”

“I understand, Brandon. But you’re going to be all right. They’re bringing a wagon. We’ll get you home to Maester Luwin.”

Brandon shook his head. “Protect them, Ned. Promise me. Robb. Cat. All of them. Promise me.”

Ned didn’t want to make this promise. He didn’t want this promise to be necessary. _Please gods, please. Let him live._

“Ned! Promise me.”

“I promise, Brandon. You have my word. I’ll protect all of them. Winterfell is for the Starks, and I’ll see to it that no one tries to lay any claim to it.”

His brother smiled then, although his eyes were closed. After a few moments, he spoke again. “Rickard.” He shook his head. “Cat . . .” He shook his head again.

“Rickard will stay at Winterfell, Brandon. I’ll watch over him. And Cat will be all right with it.”

Brandon actually opened his eyes and gave a small laugh at that, although it caused him to grimace with pain. “No, she won’t,” he said. “But she’ll let him stay if you ask it.”

“I’ll ask her if need be. But I’d rather you do it. So stay with me, Brandon. Stay with me.”

“I would if I could, brother. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes then and stayed silent.

Jory Cassel came over and touched Ned on the shoulder. “Lord Eddard, we’ll need to carry him to the horses, and then get him out to where the wagons can reach.”

Ned nodded. He and Jory carried his brother together, barely speaking as they went. They tried not to jostle Brandon but he still cried out several times although he never opened his eyes. When they reached the horses, Ned helped tie his brother onto the saddle of horse. Then he tied Brandon’s horse to his own and led it down the path as slowly as possible. About halfway to where they needed to go, Robert Baratheon rode up to him.

“How is he, Ned?” he asked.

“Bad.”

Robert looked devastated. Ned wondered idly what he looked like himself. He couldn’t seem to feel anything at all now.

“Ned, I never . . . I didn’t . . . Gods, man, this is . . .”

“I know.” Ned didn’t know what else to say. If Robert blamed himself, Ned wasn’t going to absolve him. Brandon made his own decisions today, just as he always had. But he had chosen to save Robert’s life. And he had chosen to put himself in harm’s way to be certain the bear was killed before anyone else was hurt. And other people, including Robert, made those decisions necessary. “Are you hurt?” he asked Robert absently.

“Not a damn bit,” Robert said, sounding as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Not one damn bit.” After a moment, he added, “One man died. The other should be all right, though. The one you and your man got away from the bear.”

Ned nodded. He’d already guessed correctly about the fate of both of those men. He only wished he knew Brandon’s. A large part of him feared he did know it, but his brother still breathed so he refused to believe his fate was decided yet.

They finally reached the wagons coming from Winterfell, and Ned was pleased to see that Maester Luwin had come with them. He was less pleased at the bleak expression the maester’s face took on when he briefly examined Brandon. He looked up at Ned. “He should survive the journey to Winterfell. I have milk of the poppy if he should suffer any pain.”

“Will he survive?” Ned asked him.

Maester Luwin looked at him sadly. “Not likely,” he said. “If he doesn't bleed out in the next few hours, he could linger for days with this type of wound, Lord Eddard, but eventually the bowels will putrefy even if the blood loss is stopped.”

Gut wounds. Horrible way to die. Ned and Brandon had both seen more than their fair share of them on battlefields. Brandon didn’t deserve this.

“I’ll ride in the wagon,” he said. “If he wakes and has pain, I’ll call for you.”

Maester Luwin looked for a moment as if he might suggest that he should be the one to ride in the wagon with Brandon, but then he simply laid a hand on Ned’s shoulder and said, “Yes, my lord. That will work well.”

It seemed an eternity to Ned before they reached the gates of Winterfell. As they drew close to them, he leaned down and whispered, “You’re home, Brandon. You’re home now.”

He hadn’t expected a response, but Brandon actually opened his eyes. “You’re home, too,” he said softly, but very clearly. “You are a good man, Ned. Should’ve been born first.”

“No, Brandon. I was never meant to be lord. That’s your place. And Robb’s after you.”

Brandon’s eyes remained opened, and he smiled at that. “Want Robb . . . to be . . . better than me. Help Cat. Help her, Ned . . . to make Robb be like . . . you.”

Ned could barely respond to that. His eyes clouded with tears and his throat felt tight. Brandon didn’t know. He didn’t know how badly Ned had wronged him. “I’m not such a good man,” he finally managed to whisper. “But I promise you Robb will be a better man than either of us.”

Brandon smiled again, and he kept his eyes open until they passed through the gates into Winterfell. Then with a long sigh, he closed them once more.

The courtyard was full of people. As soon as the wagon rolled to as stop, Maester Luwin rode up to take charge of Brandon. Ned spotted Catelyn coming toward them at a run with her skirts clutched in her hands.

“Ned!” she cried out. “What’s happened? We were told there was an accident, and then Jory just rode up and said you were in the wagon!” Her voice broke and she clutched at his hands. She noticed the blood on them then and took a closer look at this clothing, all of which was fairly heavily stained with blood. “Ned?” she asked in a voice trembling with fear. “Are you hurt?” 

“It isn’t mine,” he said simply, and he watched relief replace the panic in her eyes. Then she looked at his face carefully, and fear once again haunted her lovely features. “Where’s Brandon?”

“In the wagon. He’s hurt, Cat. It’s bad.”

“No,” she whispered. “No.” The panic was back in her voice as she dropped his hands and ran to the wagon. Ned turned to watch her as she threw herself down over Brandon’s supine form. He couldn’t tell if she kissed him, spoke to him, or simply cried over him, but she remained bent over him for a long time. Maester Luwin stood beside her. He had hold of one of Brandon’s hands. No one else went near them. Ned wondered where the children were. He wondered if he should go get them. Or if he should go to Brandon and Catelyn. Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense. His own heart felt lifeless somehow.

He simply stood where he was, watching the three people at the wagon, not that he could see anything of Brandon, save the hand held by Maester Luwin. Suddenly, the maester gripped that hand in both of his, feeling around on it, and then he bent over Brandon almost as closely as Catelyn did. After a moment, he put a hand on Catelyn’s shoulder and said something to her.

Ned knew in the next moment that he would never, for all the rest of his life, forget the sound of Catelyn’s scream. The anguish that poured out of her in that long, singular, terrible sound, followed by her painful sobs of grief and shock left no one in the courtyard in any doubt of what had happened.

The Lord of Winterfell was dead. 

And in spite of the deadness in his own heart, in spite of the weight of his own sins and the guilt that gnawed at his soul, Ned Stark had a promise to keep to his brother. Slowly, he forced himself to walk away from his brother’s weeping wife and went to the Great Keep in search of the children he had promised to protect.


End file.
